The Mark Sparingly Given
by Dahlia d'Arque
Summary: You mortals always amuse me. I give you a taste of power, and more often than not, I watch you go mad with the very power I've bestowed upon you. You believe that you know me, what I desire, and why I do the things that I do. In truth, none of you understand why I give my Mark. I am an observer, but I am also much more than that. I believe it's time I tell my side of the story…
1. The Shrine

**_Chapter One (Prologue)_**

 ** _The Shrine_**

* * *

Hello, mortal.

…

No, no. Don't be afraid of me. I'm not here to harm you. I'm simply here to talk to you.

…

I've seen many faces over the millennia. Your face doesn't look familiar to me. I don't recall us having spoken before. Are we to become acquainted?

…

Well, I suppose it doesn't matter either way. You've found this Shrine, my Shrine, tucked away in the darkest of dark corners of Dunwall.

…

I applaud you, mortal. That must mean you have some level of intelligence in that head of yours. Or, lunacy. Or idiocy. How daring of you, that you actively sought one of my Shrines.

You do know that "worshipping" me is a crime of heresy, according to the Abbey of the Everyman? You know…That _cult_ that has dedicated their lives to loathing me and trying to destroy me?

…

You're staring awfully hard at that whalebone Rune. It won't do you any good…Not without my Mark.

…

 _I cross my arms, and I tilt my head_. I am intrigued by you, little mortal. How were you able to find my Shrine? Did you have help from someone? Granny Rags, perhaps? Daud, the Knife of Dunwall? Corvo Attano, the dishonored Royal Protector? Or maybe even the Little Rat Boy…

No…It could not have been the Little Rat Boy. He's dead.

Tell me, little mortal…How _did_ you find my Shrine?

…

Hmm…I am allowing you to see me. You are one of the few mortals who have.

You're rather quiet, aren't you? Can you not hear me? Are you a mute? Did the Overseers cut out your tongue for disobeying their Seven Strictures? Are you ignoring me? You would be the first mortal who has, if that is the case. Or, perhaps I have frightened you into silence by my sudden appearance?

…

Well, your eyes betray you. There is something _aware_ within you. _I shrug my shoulders._ Well, I suppose I cannot hold you at fault for your silence. Perhaps you'll be a good listener, after all.

…

So, allow me to pose you this question: Do you know who I am?

…

Your eyes show uncertainty, so I will answer this question for you. I am The Outsider. Perhaps you know me by one of my many other names, since you mortals seem so inclined to keep giving them to me. I am the _Great Leviathan_ ; the _Trickster_ ; an _angel_ ; a _devil_ ; The _Void Walker_ ; The _One Who Walks in Your Dreams_ ; The _Black-eyed Bastard_ …

It's all rather tiresome, the endless titles I've been given over the millennia.

Did you know that I am none of those things? Who I truly am is no great secret. It is merely a footnote in history. _Your_ History.

…

I see that I have your attention now. So, are you willing to hear a story? Our Story?

…

Prove your loyalty to me, little mortal. I'll know when you have. Then, return to this Shrine, and I will tell you this story, from the beginning of Time itself…

All the way to now.


	2. A Story Promised, A Story Told

**_Chapter Two_**

 ** _A Story Promised, A Story Told_**

* * *

Now you've definitely intrigued me, mortal. You did what I asked of you. How thoughtful of you.

…

Still do not wish to speak, I see.

…

It's no matter. A story promised is a story told. And I promised you a tale from the beginning of Time itself. So, I'm going to tell you the story of how I became The Outsider.

…

Do I have your full attention, mortal?

…

Good.

…

Did you know that I was once a human being, just like you? Yes. I was mortal. Hard to believe, isn't it? Everyone seems to believe that I am a malevolent spirit. When, in reality, I used to be flesh and blood. To some degree, I suppose it's fair to say that I still am.

 _I can feel my fingers twitching in rage. Does the mortal notice, I wonder?_

I was born on what you mortals now call the Pandyssian Continent. Pandyssia is as great of a mystery now as it was over four-thousand years ago.

…

Don't give me that look, mortal. I could subject you to unending nightmares, if I so desired.

But I won't.

At least, not yet.

Consider yourself lucky that I find you so…captivating.

…

At the age of fifteen – _was I truly only fifteen years of age? –_ I was an orphan. I know not who my family was, or what happened to them. _Nor do I care…_

 _If they hadn't of abandoned me, I never would have been forced into that ritual!_

 _…_ _If I ever find the souls of my family and captors, the torment I'm going to put them through will be grand!_

…

Why do you watch me so intently, mortal?

…

Is that empathy I detect? How…curious.

 _Do I perhaps have more humanity left in me than I care to admit to?_

 _Or have over four-thousand years of solitude finally driven me mad?_

 _…_ _Perhaps I should direct my insatiable curiosity to my own being._

…

As a child, I was abused. And I was powerless to stop my abuser…abusers…

Did you know that a child who is abused, and is powerless, almost always becomes someone dangerous? Someone to be feared.

If you could speak, I would tell you to go ask someone who _worships_ me to tell you about their past. I promise you, they, too, were made to feel powerless and isolated by their pain.

…

Hmm…I see comprehension in your eyes.

How?

Why?

 _You truly are listening…Maybe I will grant you a Mark someday…_

…

I will continue, mortal. You can stop your ceaseless staring.

It's okay to _blink_ every now and again. It may even help you to see what is before you more clearly.

…

 _I cross my arms, giving myself time to stifle my anger. Millennia upon millennia still isn't enough to make me stop being bitter about this subject._

I was kidnapped by a group of cultists.

…

Of course I was. I was an orphan. No one would miss me.

…

Their name?

…

I do not wish to speak it. They are unworthy of being recorded by history.

…

Enough of those questioning looks, mortal. It is time to heed my words.

…

These cultists…They forced me to undergo a ritual. They swore up and down, down and up, that I was _special._ Apparently, when all sorts of celestial signs that you could care less about match up, and a bunch of worthless fish die…You're suddenly _special_.

 _They imposed their will upon me, robbing me of my own free will._

 _I wonder…Do I do something similar, when I bestow my Mark?_

 _No…I simply observe. I do not interfere in their decisions._

 _I am not like_ them _._

…

You seem doubtful of my well-being. Doubtful, but not fearful.

You are a strange mortal, indeed.

…

These cultists…They bathed me in a repulsive combination of blood, _un_ holy water, and dust. Void dust, they claimed. Then they dressed me in what I appear in now. Yes. The rings were included as part of the ensemble.

…

I have been alive for over four-thousand years, mortal. Incredible, isn't it?

…

The cultists…made me merge with The Void. How? I wish I knew. The ritual, even to this day, still remains a mystery to me. They left me with nothing better to do than to watch over you mortals. Occasionally, I bestow my Mark upon your kind, and watch to see what you do with its power.

More often than not, you all seem to go mad from it. I've seen it used to acquire more power. I've seen it used for love, obsession, money, revenge…

I've even seen it used for redemption.

…

Why? It matters not to me. I am simply an observer of such things that are, for the most part, disappointing and all so very predictable.

But do you know _why_ I bestowed my Mark upon those mortals?

 _I smile._ You will have to earn that part of the story.

I believe you will.

Eventually.


	3. Idle Contemplation

**_Chapter Three_**

 ** _Idle Contemplation_**

* * *

What interesting times, these mortals live in now. Never before have so many of them fascinated me. Let alone, so greatly.

I rolled my eyes. He's at it again. Anton Sokolov, enough with your disgusting rituals and sacrifices! If you desire to speak with me so badly, why don't you start by being a much more remarkable person? Piero Joplin is more entertaining than you.

Not that Piero would ever admit that I have spoken to him in his dreams. He's not stupid enough to incur the wrath of the Abbey of the Everyman.

 _I do wonder how the mortal is doing…They have yet to return to the Shrine._

 _Have they been detained by the Overseers? Ah well, it's no matter. The mortal will turn up eventually._

Let's see…

A mother shall lose a child today. Murdered by the Overseers for a crime her son never committed. A different mother will die giving birth to her child. That child shall be stillborn.

One of Daud's Novice Whalers will take their first life today. Their Master will take one of theirs tomorrow for disloyalty. And Daud himself will retire soon. He has yet to decide where to settle down.

Granny Rags' "little birdies" will kill a member of the Bottle Street gang in the morning. In the afternoon, Granny Rags will turn him into a fine stew. And in the evening, she'll carve his bones into a new charm.

Bundry Rothwild is still trying to find his way out of Tyvia…How amusing.

Barrister Timsh is still rotting away in Coldridge Prison, along with the former Royal Spymaster, Hiram Burrows, and the leader of the Loyalist Conspiracy, Farley Havelock.

Delilah Copperspoon is still crying like a spoiled little child in the darkest reaches of The Void. Perhaps I should pay her a visit, to _check_ on her state of mind. After all, I do love poetic justice…

Former High Overseer Thaddeus Campbell has finally succumbed to the Rat Plague…Such a shame. I was hoping he'd suffer more for his heinous crimes.

Morgan and Custis Pendleton are still slaving away in their own silver mines…How boring.

Lady Boyle…Well…I am never going to get that image out of my mind…How repulsive.

And there's Corvo Attano. He will sit before Jessamine Kaldwin's grave, like he has been every day since his return to Dunwall Tower as the Royal Protector. Ironic, really, since he still carries a piece of her with him everywhere he goes.

He wants to destroy it. But he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't want to bring further damage to Jessamine's soul.

I wonder what the future holds for young Empress Emily Kaldwin the First.

Let's take a look at your future, Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin.

I slashed my hand through the air, and held both of my hands up, my fingers mimicking the beak of a crane.

I cannot help but smile at what I see. This is going to be _very_ fascinating thread of Time.

Fourteen years from now, Empress Emily Kaldwin will be dethroned. Just like how her mother was. Except Emily will survive to fight another day.

Although, I have to wonder…Will Emily gain her throne back, all by herself? Her father will have certainly made her into a worthy assassin.

Or, will Emily Kaldwin ask Corvo Attano to regain her throne for her?

I will watch this strand closely, and perhaps weave it into existence…


	4. One Word, Aptly Written

**_Chapter Four_**

 ** _One Word, Aptly Written_**

* * *

Why hasn't the mortal returned yet? This is rather…frustrating. They should have returned by now. And I know for a fact that the mortal isn't dead…

I shrugged. I suppose I'll have to find another means of entertainment.

And I have the perfect idea in mind…

 _Is he asleep yet? Oh, good. He is asleep._

 _Time to have a little fun._

I slashed my hand through the air, and closed my dark eyes. I could feel the energy of The Void shifting around me, as I opened the line of communication.

"Hello there, Piero," I said, smiling. "It's been a long while since you and I last spoke. You must have been going mad, from a lack of ideas in these recent months. I'm here to fix that little dilemma of yours. I need you to do something for me. Something…important. Can you do that for me?"

Piero Joplin stared at me, eyes wide in his usual mixture of madness and fear. "Yes…Yes, of course. I can do anything you ask of me."

"How thoughtful of you. You see, I need you to create a box for me. But not just _any_ kind of box. Cardboard won't suffice. I need a box made of the finest metals you can get your hands on. A box with numerous locking mechanisms, and a numerical code to grant its possessor success. Inside, there will be a message."

"But who is this box being made for?"

"You will more than likely be pleased about this," I replied. "It will be delivered to a…colleague of yours."

"And the message?" Piero asked, quizzically.

"The message is…"

…

I opened my eyes, dismissing our communication.

I'd look into the future, to see the outcome of the task I had asked of Piero, but where would the fun in that be?

I will await his hard work…

* * *

The box, once completed, was a work of arcane beauty. Piero Joplin is reliable in this way. The runes etched into the metal and the dead language left no doubt as to the origins of the package, which appeared in the subbasement of the Academy of Natural Philosophy after another appallingly botched and bloody ritual on the petitioner's part.

Much to my satisfaction, the petitioner spent day after day, night after night, solving the complex series of locks. He solved this puzzle far quicker than I would have liked. Though, I was pleased that the numerical code was perplexing him.

Nearly a month later, he had solved the puzzle.

I watched with some entertainment as he opened the box, such rapt anticipation upon his face.

And I smiled, laughing at his expression of utter dismay upon viewing its contents.

I always said that I would speak to Anton Sokolov if he became more…intriguing. Alas, he has not done so. Maybe he'll finally get the idea, after this lovely little message I've given him.

One word, aptly written.

Simple and precise.

Spelled out in large letters, constructed from the teeth of those he had sacrificed in my name…

"No."


	5. Make Your Choice

**_Chapter Five_**

 ** _Make Your Choice_**

* * *

Mortal…I'm surprised to see you have returned. You have been gone for a very long time. Did the Overseers catch you?

…

In any case, you should be cautious of those…zealots. They don't know when to quit their futile "mission."

…

As quiet as ever, I see…Such a pity. I am rather curious to hear what you sound like. Are you nothing more than a young child? Or are you a mature adult?

…

Since you've been gone for such a long while, you have lost the privilege of hearing my next tale. Perhaps you would like to make amends and regain my interest? In fact, I have something special in store for you.

There are seven tales that I desire to tell you, and each one holds an answer to a question that you seem so desperate to have answered.

…

How will this assist you? That is for you to decide.

…

My reasons for assisting you are my own, mortal. Know that everything I do for you is a test. _And know that everything I do to you has a purpose._ Your decisions have consequences, whether you know it or not, whether you like it or not.

Mark my words well: I will know of each and every consequence created, and what each one holds in store for you.

…

Now, let us get to business.

These are the seven choices that lay before you. The order in which you select these tales matters not. They all will serve a purpose in the end.

 _The tale of Madness._

 _The tale of Power._

 _The tale of Love._

 _The tale of Obsession._

 _The tale of Coin._

 _The tale of Revenge._

 _The tale of Redemption._

…

What will you choose?

…

You cannot make a decision at this moment?

…

Very well. I will be kind to you, mortal. Just this once. I will give you three days to consider your answer.

Choose wisely.


	6. Entitlement, Delusion, Ruin

**_Chapter Six_**

 ** _Entitlement, Delusion, Ruin_**

* * *

Hello again, mortal. Have you made your choice?

…

You have? Excellent.

But you do know that I'm still disappointed in you, do you not?

…

Because, little mortal, I asked you to make a choice. You did _nothing_. You froze, when you should have been decisive.

If you want to be like the man you idolize most, you're going to have to learn to think and act in an instant. There can be no hesitation.

…

You hide yourself well in that garb, mortal. But you won't stay protected forever.

Sooner or later, your identity will be revealed to those from whom you hide. There is nothing you can do to change that.

…

Glare at me all you want. It won't help you.

Now, what is your choice?

…

"Power."

 _I stare at the mortal, trying to hide my expression of shock._ What did you say, mortal?

"I said power. I want to hear the Tale of Power."

 _So, this is the choice. How disappointing._

So, you desire to hear the Tale of Power. Are you perhaps trying to avoid the same mistakes that others have made, using the power I have given them?

…

 _And now you choose silence once more._

 _How droll._

Very well, mortal. I will tell you the Tale of Power.

Heed my words. I will not repeat myself.

…

 _Once upon a time_ , there lived a woman named Delilah Copperspoon. She was best known for being the leader of a coven of witches. The Brigmore Witches, to be precise. But Delilah wasn't always a witch. No. In fact, she had larger ambitions. Ones she never outgrew.

Did you know that she used to be a playmate to the late Jessamine Kaldwin, long before that girl became Empress? The two of them were best friends…Up until the point that Delilah and Jessamine were caught performing a forbidden act.

There have been many speculations as to what this act entailed. Perhaps it was an act of the occult. Some suggest that it was an act of forbidden love. Others say they committed a crime. Of course, I am the only one left who knows the real answer.

But I won't give it to you.

When they were discovered, Jessamine betrayed her friend, as those with power over the weak are wont to do. Delilah was whipped, her mother fired, and they were cast from Dunwall Tower. Jessamine, however, remained blameless and untroubled by the consequences that befell Delilah and her family.

Delilah chose to abandon a promising career as a baker. Instead, she became an apprentice in painting and sculpting under the tutelage of Anton Sokolov. He took her into his circle, and introduced her to a side of darkness, marked by ritual and magic.

…

You seem surprised to learn this about Sokolov. He is a man who, on the surface, represents intellect, but he is much like the Wrenhaven River. He is relatively calm on the surface, yet his undercurrents are murky and deep.

It is through Sokolov that Delilah gleaned her first taste of black magic. She became quite proficient at creating portraits that could capture one's spirit. Her skill is what convinced me to grant her my Mark. She had such potential, given her past…

Alas, she proved to be yet another disappointment.

Delilah was a woman who thought that the hardships of her childhood meant that she would be deserving of so much more than she was given.

I'll spare you the tawdry details of her relationship with Barrister Arnold Timsh. Needless to say, she gained a fortune that allowed her to create the Coven of Brigmore. As her power grew, so did her purpose.

She would finally have the life that Jessamine took from her. She would wear Lady Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin's skin like a mummer's mask, so that she could ascend the throne of the Empire of the Isles.

Delilah failed to account for one fatal flaw in her folly. She failed to comprehend the complexity of a man named Daud, the _legendary_ Knife of Dunwall. She allowed him to get inside of her head, thus turning her rationality into emotion.

She thought her schemes to be brilliant. To the inexperienced, perhaps they were. She thought that by turning Daud's own apprentice against him, and sending the Overseers of the Abbey to his hideout, she could destroy him and all that he had created.

Her miscalculation was underestimating Daud's experience, discipline, and tenacity. She failed to grasp that everyone reacts to betrayal differently. She thought this would break him. Instead, she inspired him to cut a bloody swath through her ranks, just as she had indirectly done through his.

It did not take long for Daud to find Delilah, for one path to end, and another to begin.

Daud's elimination of Delilah was truly poetic. He _trapped_ her in her own painting, sparing the life of the young Lady Emily, and consigning Delilah to the fate that was to have been Emily's. Delilah is forever trapped within The Void, weeping and wondering if she'll ever escape its everlasting torments.

In the end, overreaching lust for power led Delilah to her downfall. She now pays a perpetual price for failure. And the irony of it all, mortal? I could free her, if I so desired.

But why reward failure?


	7. A Disturbance In Time

**_Chapter Seven_**

 ** _A Disturbance In Time_**

* * *

I stood in The Void, watching as the mortal walked away from the Shrine. _Why am I glaring at the mortal?_ I suddenly realized that I had been clenching my hands into fists. _Am I…angry?_

 _Why do I feel such…disappointment at their choice?_

I shook my head, sighing. Why does every mortal have to pick _power?_

Was Corvo Attano the anomaly? Did he alone understand the true meaning of justice, and the use of the power of which I bestow?

"Why?" I wonder aloud. "Why…why…why…"

 _Why am I so…entranced by this mortal?_

 _Why do I care so much about the decisions they make?_

 _Why am I…_ infuriated _that this mortal chose the Tale of Power?_

Are these questions coming from the remnants of my Humanity? Is it my conscience speaking to me? Is that why I care? Is that why I am feeling, doing, what I am now?

Is this what it is like to be "Human" again, after so many millennia?

I teleported myself to the opposite end of The Void, and I slashed my hand viciously through the air. I closed my eyes, and with a deep breath, I opened the Tapestry of Time.

So it was that I began to gaze upon my mortal acquaintance…

* * *

The amount of choices facing this young mortal is simply…overwhelming.

Kill a man one day, the child of the man dies the next day. The mother, stricken with grief, joins a street gang, and begins to seek revenge…

Betray a close friend one day; a family member dies the next…

 _Time is like a never-ending wheel, forever turning on and on._

 _Life is like walking along the edge of a blade. You never know when you are going to be cut._

If the mortal refuses to take these lessons to heart, the World as it is known now will know a horrific darkness. That much is certain…

The mortal is contemplating the Tale of Madness, the Tale of Love, or the Tale of Obsession…

…

…

…

Something is wrong.

* * *

I forced my eyes to open, and I inhaled sharply. _Is it possible for me to feel pain?_

There is a disturbance in The Void…An unnatural disturbance in Time…in the Tapestry…

I extended my hand, and I grasped the disturbance, as a seamstress would grab a thread. I followed the thread to its origin.

 _No…_

 _This is impossible!_

 _She cannot have this kind of power…Not here…_

…

The thread led me to a tree, now empty of its prisoner.

…

All that remained in the witch's stead was a bloodied rose of white, and a message written in blood: "Vengeance will be mine."


	8. No More Light

**_Chapter Eight_**

 ** _No More Light_**

* * *

I leaned down, picking up the bloodied rose in my hand and glancing at it.

The witch pricked her thumb to write the message in blood.

But how did she get the power to release herself from this prison?

It shouldn't have happened this soon. It was an improbability.

…

Troublesome…

Troublesome, indeed…

…

 _Should I warn the mortal? Do I speak of what has transpired here this day?_

 _The mortal has not been heeding the lessons I have been teaching…_

 _Why?_

 _Has the mortal already been corrupted by the prospect of even more power?_

 _…_

 _I cannot allow this to continue._

 _The mortal must be chastised._

 _It is the only way…_

…

 _How quaint. Here comes the mortal now._

 _…_

"I've had enough of your games, Outsider!" the mortal said, crossly. "Tell me why you bestow your Mark on people."

How rude, mortal. I didn't even say hello.

"I don't care! Tell me!"

 _I cross my arms and tilt my head._ No, mortal. You haven't learned, therefore, you do not deserve the answer.

"I have been learning!"

 _I shake my head, disappointedly._ If you were learning, you would have picked the Tale of Redemption first. Coin leads to obsession. Obsession leads to power. Power leads to madness. Madness leads to revenge. And love is the catalyst, the means to the end.

"Then what leads to redemption?"

Acceptance.

"Acceptance of what?"

One's heart.

"Then tell me the story of redemption next. I'll listen!"

No, mortal. It's too late for that.

Time has changed. It has dictated a new direction. And now, I must tailor these lessons to Time.

"What…What are you talking about?"

You once pleaded me to leave you a candle.

And I left you that candle, didn't I?

But this time, there will be no candles.

I once told you that I could subject you to unending nightmares, if I so desired. Consider this one of those nightmares.

Yet, I won't allow you to wake up.

Not until you comprehend the reasons behind my tutelage.

…

"No, let me go! Please!"

I had taken the mortal by the arm. Taken the mortal to the witch's prison.

"Why am I here?"

The woman who was imprisoned here has now escaped. You should know who she is, after the Tale of Power.

What you don't know is _why_ she was put here.

"I thought it was to save Lady Emily?"

It was. However, there is more to it than that.

It was an act of redemption, as much as it was an act of revenge.

"How was it redemption and how was it revenge?"

It was redemption, because the Crown Killer, the Knife of Dunwall…Daud…was a broken man after he killed Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, and sold her daughter to the Pendletons. He was haunted by nightmares due to his actions, his choices. It was revenge, because he wanted to dispose of the witch for turning his lieutenant against him.

Daud once told me that Billie Lurk was his finest pupil, and I found it no accident that she was the only woman he ever trained. In some ways, Lurk was like a daughter to him. He thought he could trust her. Yet, he thought wrong, and his Whalers paid the price for it.

Do you know why Billie Lurk betrayed her master? No. Of course you don't. I haven't told you that story yet. I will give you a hint, however. She was wracked with obsession. And she paid a different kind of price for that obsession.

"But what does any of this have to do with me?"

 _I gesture for the mortal to sit._ Will you listen this time?

The mortal nodded. "Yes…"

Then sit, mortal. We are going to be here for a long, long while.


	9. Broken Loyalties

**_Chapter Nine_**

 ** _Broken Loyalties_**

* * *

The mortal sat cross-legged, eyes wide with interest. Good. I finally had their attention.

"Tell me about this…Billie Lurk you mentioned earlier."

 _I cross my arms._ Try again, mortal.

The mortal sighed. "You said that Lurk paid a price for obsession…The Tale of Obsession is hers, isn't it?"

I do not answer the mortal.

"Okay…I want to hear the Tale of Obsession."

That is your choice, then?

"Yes, because coin leads to obsession."

Why?

"Obsession leads to power."

Why?

"Power leads to madness."

Why?

"Madness leads to revenge."

And why does it lead to revenge?

"It is powered by the catalyst called…uh…called love?"

And what of redemption, dear mortal? What leads to that?

"Redemption is, as you put it, the acceptance of one's self."

 _I nod, approvingly_. Very good, mortal. You've earned the Tale of Obsession.

"Thank you…I think?"

Since coin is what sparks obsession, however, you should have picked the Tale of Coin first.

The mortal sighed. _I smirk, for the briefest of moments._

Regardless, mortal, you've earned the tale. And so, I shall tell it.

…

Billie Lurk. Where do I even begin with her? Like many of the young children in the Whalers, Billie Lurk was a street kid, a member of a not-so-notorious gang that was attempting to capture the attention of the Hatters or the Bottle Street boys. She was born to an abusive, drunkard of a mother who particularly enjoyed Billie's torment. She would throw things at the young girl. Once, even pushed her down a flight of stairs. Lurk became desensitized to pain, from the innumerable bruises she suffered at the hands of her life-giver.

Her life took a turn, the day she grew a spine and ran away from home. In fact, that is how she became a member of the gang she ran with.

Her gang took to the knife. The Business of Death, so to speak. And Lurk enjoyed killing. Perhaps far too much so, for her sake. But the young girl was heading down a path of darkness. The gang overstepped its bounds, the day they attempted to rob the son of the Duke of Serkonos, who was visiting the Isle of Gristol.

When the Son killed Lurk's close friend, she repaid the death by killing him. She drove a wooden gazelle through his eye. And not long after, she was dishonored by her gang, and everyone she knew, or came across. They didn't want her presence. She was being hunted by the City Watch, as well as the Grand Guard of Serkonos. As you can imagine, the Duke of Serkonos wanted to find the killer of his heir. And the only time poor little Lurk was wanted, was when people attempted to capture her and earn coin from the bounty on her head.

She was lonely. Seething with a kind of hatred I've rarely seen in humans. Once again, her life took a turn the day she witnessed Daud and his men kill a man. Daud and these mysterious boys took her interest. So, she followed them, all the way back to their hideout. With a few simple, honeyed words, Daud had her loyalty. Billie Lurk finally had a family.

"What does any of this have to do with obsession?" the mortal interjected.

 _I shake my head, disapprovingly._ Don't talk. Listen, mortal.

When Billie Lurk became Daud's apprentice, her obsession began. She began to follow him around like a puppy. She had everything she could have ever wanted…but it wasn't enough for her. Desire to _lead_ the Whalers was quickly festering in her. And when that desire wasn't being catered to, she became vitriolic.

Then, Daud assassinated the Empress. He was changing, in ways that the Whalers didn't know how to react towards. Many of them accepted their Master's change. But Lurk? She didn't approve of how he was "slipping."

In a way that still eludes me, Delilah entered the picture, and whispered dark promises into the young woman's ear. She promised her that she could have more power than ever dreamed imaginable. The price? Betray Daud, end his life, and kill his loyalists. Then, Lurk would become the Knife of Dunwall.

She came so close to succeeding. However, she didn't anticipate Daud's absence from their hideout. With the help of the Overseers of the Abbey, Lurk and Delilah killed many Whalers. She was killing her family. And for the first time, Daud felt the true meaning of betrayal.

Despite it all, he didn't kill Lurk.

"What!?" the mortal exclaimed. "He didn't?"

Sometimes, dear mortal, banishment is worse than death. That is a fate that High Overseer Thaddeus Campbell knows all too well. The price Billie Lurk paid for her obsession was banishment from a family that once cared dearly for her.

"And? Where did she go?"

Who can say? Except me, of course. It remains to be seen what paths Billie Lurk will take in her future. There are some rather intriguing options available to her.

So tell me, mortal. What is the moral of this story?

The mortal contemplated their answer. "Obsession leads to power, as much as it leads to ruin. Billie had the life she chose. She had escaped the life that was foisted upon her. Yet, she threw it all away because she wanted the power she believed she deserved, instead of earning it on her own merits. She lost everything because she was impatient."

Yes, precisely so.

I will be generous, and give you some time to think over your next decision. Summon me when you have your answer.

"Wait, you're going to leave me here!?"

Yes. I am. Have fun, mortal.


	10. How It Always Exchanges Hands

**_Chapter Ten_**

 ** _How It Always Exchanges Hands_**

* * *

Good morning, mortal. You have summoned me at last, I see. Have you made your choice?

"Yes, I have," the mortal replied. "You keep saying that I should have picked the Tale of Coin. So, I want to hear it. The Tale, I mean."

 _I shrug_. As you wish, mortal.

…

Hmm. I was planning to tell you a tale about the Barrister Arnold Timsh, or even the great Lady Boyle…Alas, mortal, there are simply too many of you that fit into this criteria all too perfectly. So, I'm going to take a different approach to this tale.

Are you ready to learn?

"Yes, Outsider."

Then let us begin, mortal.

…

How is it that such a mundane object carries so much weight? A coin is nothing more than a small, circular object with a picture on it. And yet, you mortals let it run your lives. It is a very fascinating subject, when you think about it. Coin leads to obsession, as much as it leads to power, and for some, the inevitable embrace of corruption.

I have seen mortals use it for political advantages: To buy off votes in the Parliament; assassinate members of the Royalty; and even to buy-out estates of the Nobility. Those are just _some_ of its minor corruptions. On a grander scale, it has led to the ruins of families and empires.

Think about this, my dear mortal. The Pendleton family was once rich. They made their coin off of mining silver. Then, the mines began to dry up. They were losing coin, and quickly. So, what did the Pendletons decide to do? Well, Custis and Morgan were planning to spend each and every last coin they had on women, whiskey, and cigars. Then, they were going to commit suicide. A rather distorted form of honor, don't you think? But for a Pendleton, one must scrape the cistern deeply to find any semblance of the true meaning of that word.

As for Treavor Pendleton, he met his fate in a different way. He chose to walk the path of corruption. But that's not my tale to tell. Question those more familiar to you, regarding this man, should you desire to learn more than you already know.

As you should have learned during your brief forays amongst the more common people of Dunwall, coin is a means of survival. It buys basic necessities, like food, water, clothing, shoes, bedding, and for some, soap. Yet, even the people who live among the commons are not immune to corruption, or greed. Crimes are born of desperation or, in some cases, out of some malignant belief in one's own ascendency over the masses.

That, my dear mortal, is how crime industries become empires of their own. Ones that cannot be so easily rooted out from the population. In the darkest corners of the Empire, you can find anything from murderers, to thieves, to arsonists. Anything you can think of, really. But some of the most well-known crime empires are right here, in Dunwall. The Bottle Street Gang. The Hatters. Lizzy Stride and her Dead Eels. Daud's Whalers. The Golden Cat.

What you mortals often misunderstand, however, is that you need to _earn_ your coin. You cannot steal it. You cannot just have it handed to you. Greed and corruption take root, when one feels they are entitled to more than they justly deserve.

Do you know what's ironic, mortal? Both the Royal Spymaster turned Lord Regent, Hiram Burrows, and City Barrister Arnold Timsh lost their positions of power. How did this come about?

…

"The Lord Regent got what he justly deserved for the betrayal of his Empress," the mortal said, contemptuously. "But why question me about either of these men? They're nothing to me."

 _I smirk at the mortal_. Are they truly nothing to you?

They were both _powerful_ men, _of rank and privilege_ , who were _taken out_ by _lowborn_ Serkonan assassins. Hiram Burrows met his fate at the hands of Corvo Attano, who played a rather incriminating audiograph across the entirety of Dunwall. Meanwhile, Barrister Timsh was framed with one of his own eviction letters by Daud. Both of them are now rotting in Coldridge Prison for their crimes.

You seem confused, dear mortal. I realize that this is quite a convoluted tale. Speak your mind.

The mortal was silent for several moments before uttering, "You seem to be implying that coin, even though it is necessary for survival, can easily lead to corruption and greed if not handled properly. Just because coin can lead to power, it doesn't mean you should obtain power with it. And if you do, you shouldn't abuse that power. Or…Wait…"

 _I tilt my head, awaiting the mortal's answer._

"Coin is always changing hands. It can be put into the hands of the corrupt, or the hands of the needy. However, you should always be careful with it. It can ruin friendships, families…Something to that effect?"

 _I shrug, realizing that the mortal had completely missed the emphasis of my warning within this tale_. Yes, mortal. It can. What else?

"I uh…Never mind…Outsider?"

Yes?

"I already know which tale I want next. I wish to hear the Tale of Redemption."

 _I distractedly nod my assent, in order to hide the perturbation caused by the ever-narrowing band of outcomes that are now left available to the mortal after today._


	11. Acceptance of One's Heart

**_Chapter Eleven_**

 ** _Acceptance of One's Heart_**

* * *

It's truly amazing, my dear mortal. After all of these years, do you know that people still attach the title of the _Crown Killer_ to Corvo? I find it fascinating how so many mortals are ignorant of current events. But I wonder if you are, as well?

"What's that supposed to mean?" the mortal asked.

 _I shrug._ You're intelligent, aren't you, mortal? I've given you the threads. Now piece them together, one by one, and you'll have your answer.

The mortal sighed.

Now, listen well. It's time for the tale.

…

Daud. A man who possesses nearly as many names as I do. How many years have passed, and how many bodies have fallen because of him? Let me give you a hint, my dear mortal. Too many.

He came to Dunwall at the age of sixteen, after having a rather extraordinary childhood. I will admit to having some empathy towards the young Daud. Around the year of 1820, I bestowed my Mark upon him. He had the potential of changing the world. Well, he certainly left an impression upon your world, hasn't he?

"And I would certainly hope that, after all these years, this man is dead and rotting in the dirt somewhere."

 _I tilt my head, and cross my arms._ Your hope is in vain, mortal. Daud is very much alive. In fact, he is alive and well, and enjoying his retirement. But you're welcome to try and kill him. Perhaps one day, your paths will cross again. Who is to say?

I will admit. I had lost all of my interest in Daud, up until he committed regicide. Now, this renewed my interest in him.

On the day he killed the Empress, the tightly wound cord of his existence began to fray. Each night, he would suffer from horrific nightmares of death and despair. His men would hear him screaming in his sleep. And on more than one occasion, he had almost killed a Whaler, who had enough of a heart to check on his Master.

Before there was ever a Knife of Dunwall, there was once an optimistic young man, who would succumb to the will of another. Over time, he would become just like every other mortal I have bestowed my power upon…cynical and corrupt.

"So then how did he redeem himself?" the mortal asked.

By challenging Delilah Copperspoon, and saving the heir to the throne of the Empire of the Isles. He realized that there was more at stake than a legacy of fear and infamy. Daud realized his imperfections. And it was this final reckoning of his life's choices that set him on a path of redemption.

Daud became wracked with guilt, and indecision. He even considered going back to Dunwall Tower, and killing the Royal Spymaster, as a way of…atonement. And he would have, too, if it weren't for Delilah being a more pressing matter.

"None of this absolves his crimes," the mortal said, derisively.

And yet, there are those who would beg to differ. They've even forgiven him, recognizing that this is a befitting resolution, for those who have walked a similar path.

Everyone makes mistakes in their lives, mortal. Daud made his mistakes, and paid dearly for them. You'd simply be wasting time, dredging deeper into what has already been settled. You have other matters to attend to, that are of greater concern.

"Such as?"

I told you, mortal. Piece the threads together, and you will have your answer.

"You've given me nothing other than children's tales, and vague promises. How is any of this meant to help me?"

You sought me, _child._ I tell you children's tales because your mind is fixated on the childhood that you lost. You wish to play chess like a master, yet you are still nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game. You have learned _nothing_ from those who have come before you, or even from those who have influenced your life.

I will deign, this one time, and tell you the moral of this tale. My power cannot fix what is flawed within you. That is something you must do on your own. You alone are responsible for _all_ of your actions. One day, you, too, will face a reckoning. And you must be prepared for the judgment that will be rendered upon you.


	12. Idle Musings

**_Chapter Twelve_**

 ** _Idle Musings_**

* * *

From a distant plane, I watched the mortal's fury surge. How could someone with the privilege of being raised by masters of intellect and stratagems, be so imprudent? Granted, many mortals have ignored my blatant warnings. And many more of them have suffered for it.

So what will it take, to finally get the mortal to understand what is at stake?

I don't particularly enjoy tormenting people. Many would find that hard to believe. Yet, what mortals commonly misunderstand about me is that I simply no longer care about the trappings of good and evil. My interest is in individuals, who have a particular drive to affect an outcome. Perhaps it would be better said that they wish to rectify what they perceive as a miscarriage of justice.

Why shouldn't they interest me? After all, was I not a once a victim of an unjust crime? That act, long ago, was neither good nor evil. It was…grey. It was an evil act, done in the name of good. Have I suffered from it? Do I suffer now? I endure, yet they are naught but dust.

Neither good, nor evil…Just dust.

Their ashes have blown away, and they are now forgotten by the world they once inhabited and sought to save. Just as my own _true_ name has been lost to Time.

I would have thought by now, more of those living on the mortal plane would have taken a greater interest in what is seen as mere footnotes in history. Perhaps one day, someone more befitting of this knowledge will know how to apply it. Perhaps not.

They don't seem to comprehend my benevolence. Why should I bear the blame for those who misuse my gifts? This is the fault of the constant preaching of the Overseers, about my corrupting influence…The irony is staggering.

There are so many days, where I wish I could walk upon the mortal plane, and strangle the life out of each and every zealot. Alas, it is not my place to do so. That is a mission, meant for someone not yet born…

 _Why, mortal?_ I find myself asking. _Why is it so hard for you to heed my warnings? If you remain blind, as I did, to the intensity of her zeal, Delilah will destroy you. Can you not see that your woeful inattentiveness endangers all those deserving of your care?_

* * *

I teleported back to Delilah's prison. The mortal was lying on the ground, the stain of tears on their cheeks.

 _I cross my arms, staring down disapprovingly at the mortal._ Have you calmed yourself from your little fit, child?

"I want to go home…" the mortal said, broken. "Please. I can't take this anymore."

 _I lean down to the mortal, and offer my hand_.

The mortal looked up at me, perplexed.

You said you wanted to go home. I'm going to send you there. No strings attached, this time.

The mortal took my hand, and I helped them to stand. With a slash of my hand through the air, I banished the mortal from the Void, sending them back to their world.

From the sanctity of my Shrine, I watch the mortal turn and walk away.

An observer watches and waits. They see opportunities, and they seize them before it's too late. What could I possibly do to the mortal, to scare them most?

They know that I am fascinated by them. They also know that I am disappointed in them. Time has a tendency to heal all wounds. They will soon realize that power beyond their imagination was within their grasp. And they forsook the opportunity to possess it.

In time, the mortal will return.

It's inevitable.

It is human nature.


	13. Revenge Won't Solve Everything

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

 ** _Revenge Won't Solve Everything_**

* * *

"Outsider?" the mortal whispered, kneeling at the Shrine. "Please…I need your guidance."

Do you, now? Are you certain about that, dear mortal?

"Please. I was wrong. I want to know the rest of the Tales. I…I need their knowledge."

For what purpose, mortal? You have yet to heed any of my warnings. Are you simply out for revenge? Or, will you use this one chance at life to be better than those who have come before you?

The mortal hesitated to answer.

You're not the first child who has sought revenge against their tormentors. And you certainly won't be the last. So, I'm going to _tell_ you why revenge won't solve everything.

…

 _Once upon a time,_ there was a little boy, who only knew Humanity by two words: loneliness, and fear. No matter where in Dunwall he went, the boy was beaten and bloodied by those bigger and stronger than him. He was abused by his fellow children, as well as adults who should have been taking care of him.

The lonely little boy would dart from alleyway to alleyway, sleeping in trash bins and eating rotten food. For him, the alleyways were what kept him from being subjected to the beatings. The only friend the lonely little boy had was a pet white rat that he carried around in his pocket.

One day, the lonely little rat boy came across one of my Shrines. I saw that this boy had the potential to alter history for the better. I bestowed my Mark upon the boy, even going as far as to tell him that he had the potential to change the world.

And do you even know his name?

The lonely little rat boy became emboldened, and grew confident in himself. He thought I had given him my Mark so that he would no longer be afraid of his tormentors. No. No, he was wrong. But he failed to see this.

The lonely little rat boy chose to confront the people who tormented him most. He called forth rather impressive swarms of rats to do his bidding. But what he didn't realize is that there is a price for disappointing me. He sealed his fate by choosing revenge. It was no mere chance that some of the rats of his swarm carried the Plague, nor was it chance that he would become infected by the instrument of his vengeance.

The boy was a little fool. Much like you are, mortal. The lonely little rat boy was weeping from the eyes within days. His final breaths were spent crawling back to the Shrine where I first appeared to him. He thanked me for bestowing my power upon him, and letting him live his final moments without a shred of fear.

I never appeared to him during his _touching_ speech. I did, however, watch him die.

And do you know something, mortal?

You're standing right on the spot where he died. Where I summoned a swarm of rats of my own, and had them devour the boy's corpse, thus erasing him from history.

…

"What!?" the mortal screamed. "This…This is the same Shrine!? And you had rats eat his corpse!?"

 _I shrug_. Am I telling you a fairytale, or am I telling you the truth? That's for _you_ to decide.

In any case, dear mortal, I can as easily bestow my power as I can take it away from you. But you didn't know that, did you? I don't particularly enjoy interfering in the affairs of your kind. On the rare occasion that I find I must, well…

Let's just say that it's a good thing the lonely little rat boy died when he did.

My infliction of unending nightmares upon your consciousness would pale in comparison to what Dunwall would have become via the actions of this boy, who chose revenge over justice.

…

Is this the path you wish to follow, mortal?


	14. Where Have The Birdies Gone?

**_Chapter Fourteen_**

 ** _Where Have The Birdies Gone?_**

* * *

"Why do you keep doing that?" the mortal asked, irritated.

Doing what?

"Disappearing into thin air before I get a chance to answer you."

 _I shrug_.

"Listen…I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms lately. So I was…I was wondering if I still get to choose my remaining tales."

If you so desire, mortal. It has only been fourteen years since I first began to converse with you. Don't you think it's a bit _past_ time that you finished hearing them?

"Yes…I'll give you that one."

You only have two tales left, mortal. The Tale of Madness or the Tale of Love…Which will it be?

"Madness," the mortal replied, decisively. "I will hear the Tale of Madness."

 _I nod._ Very well.

…

This woman had three names, in her long, long lifetime. As a maiden, she was known as Vera Dubhghoill. As a matron, she was Vera Moray. And as a crone, she died as Granny Rags.

In her youth, I watched many men beg for her hand in marriage. Once, even an Emperor coveted her. I watched her measure each man's worth, only to find them all wanting. She never really loved Lord Moray. She filled a void in her life, through the reverence of his family.

Vera Moray and her husband traveled to the Pandyssian Continent one year, on an expedition. And it was almost successful, in discovering particular… _knowledge_ that is best left forgotten.

Vera's actions were not without a great cost.

…

"You killed her, didn't you?"

No, mortal. I did not.

I drove her to into lunacy.

"Why would you have done such a thing?" the mortal paused. "She found something interesting about _your_ past, didn't she?"

 _I nod_. Yes. She did.

Vera Moray took an interest in the practices of Pandyssia's ancient people. _My_ people. It is knowledge that should not be learned by anyone. It is better left dead in tombs, than recorded in tomes.

She became enthralled by knowledge that was not meant to be hers. So, I bestowed my Mark upon her, with a very different intention. Vera was not pivotal. She was not influential. Driving her into insanity was the only way to cease her incessant prying and hunger for that which did not belong to her.

I looked within her, and saw only darkness. It was befitting that she would spend the rest of her life in that very same darkness, blinded to the world around her and forced to look within the realm of her own creation.

In her madness, Vera killed her husband. She carved his bones into charms and runes. By doing so, she found a way to create a form of…immortality, as Granny Rags.

"You said Granny Rags is dead. If she had created a form of immortality, then who was able to kill her?"

That depends on who you ask, mortal. Some say that Slackjaw, of the Bottle Street Gang, killed her. Others say that the Masked Felon killed her. She finally met her end in the sewers beneath Dunwall, surrounded by her little birdies.

"Little birdies?"

 _I smirk_. Rats, my dear mortal. How she dearly loved those little birdies of hers. They were children to her. She learned how to control the plague rats, just like the Lonely Little Rat Boy. She fed them. She cared for them. She loved them. Through her rats, and her powers, she became a menace of her own. She created complex rituals, bone charms, runes, and talismans. Whoever was unfortunate enough to get one of her creations would lose a small portion of their soul.

What troubles me is that even I don't understand what she was gaining from this.

I don't particularly enjoy showing emotion, mortal. Yet, I am glad that this witch has been dead for so many years now.

…

The mortal tilted their head, questioningly. "Outsider, may I ask you a question?"

What is it, mortal?

"I've heard stories about people who travel to Pandyssia, and try to settle there. To this day, no attempts have been successful. Everyone has either died, or succumbed to madness. Are you guarding the Far Continent? And if so, why? Were your people really that malevolent?"

 _I shrug._ Forget Pandyssia, mortal. It's irrelevant.

"You're dodging the question!" the mortal paused. "Wait…Did Vera find the ritual that…that turned you into the Outsider? She did, didn't she?"

 _I felt my fingers twitch. Why?_

"When she found your ritual, did you want her to free you from your fate? You thought that, perhaps, she'd be the one who could…Or, maybe it's more than that. She threatened to destroy you. If there is a ritual for creation, there is also a ritual for destruction. Which one was it?"

 _And so the mortal brings me to silence…_

 _Well…At least they are not as dull as I originally perceived them to be…_

"Are you going to answer me, Outsider?"

Yet again, you digress. There are more important matters. Do you wish to hear the final tale, the catalyst which sparks it all? Or should I leave you to flounder instead? It is your world that is at risk, not mine.

 _Why are my fingers still twitching? More human emotion, bleeding through?_

The mortal shook their head, sighing. "I'd like you to give me a straight answer for once. But very well. I'm ready to hear the Tale of Love."

So be it, then.


	15. The Catalyst Which Sparks It All

**_Chapter Fifteen_**

 ** _The Catalyst Which Sparks It All_**

* * *

Love. It can be simple. It can be complex. There are times where it can even be both. From a parent's love of their child, to the love of a family pet, or that of a beloved possession…Love is, and always will be, a catalyst that sparks a greater reaction.

In the case of the Royal Protector, Corvo Attano, love for his daughter and the woman he could never openly marry, was a catalyst that altered the future of an Empire. Before you ask it, no, mortal. Corvo was never responsible for the death of someone undeserving of such a fate. In his case, vengeance was measured in regards to justice. In several instances, his actions by sparing the lives of his betrayers led them to fates where death would be considered _mercy_.

You mortals have been so fascinating during this last century. Every time I've lost interest in your kind, a new source of curiosity catches my eye. Corvo proved to be most…entertaining.

"Why?" the mortal asked. "Because of the way he sought justice for his Empress?"

Yes, and by not allowing further seeds of corruption to be sown. He was a man who lost everything. His lover, his daughter, his position within the Court, his reputation…But he did not allow himself to be consumed by bloodlust. He was measured in the way he meted justice.

"And all of this was because of love for…For the Empress?"

Surely you know this, mortal. Eyes saw, tongues wagged. You are neither blind nor deaf nor stupid, despite what you want some to believe.

Of course, Corvo was in love with Jessamine Kaldwin, as she was in love with him. Yet, they kept the depth of their love secret from the public. Some within the Court knew the extent of their intimacy.

It was through their…multiple unions that the young Lady Emily was brought into existence.

"I think I'm going to be sick…"

To this day, no one can figure out when Emily was conceived. The theory among the nobility was that they had to have had their little venture during the Fugue Feast. Yet, the birth date of their daughter disproves that theory…

"Please, stop."

Prudish, are we? Very well.

Regardless of the details, when the Royal Spymaster framed Corvo for Jessamine's death, something broke inside of Corvo, much in the same way that it did within Daud. Corvo's catalyst was love. His act was revenge, though in a judicious, rather than bloody, nature.

"Did Corvo ever find Daud?"

Yes, mortal. He did.

"And you're implying that he didn't kill him?"

 _I shrug_. If you're so fascinated by this aspect of his life, why don't you ask the Royal Protector himself? He can speak for his actions and motivations better than I can. I can only surmise since, after all, I'm only an outsider, looking in.

When one considers the longevity of lives, it's truly amazing the role that a Royal Protector plays in this determination. How many beating hearts do _they_ still, all while living their life as the shadow of a sovereign? How different was Corvo's loyalty to Jessamine, from the Whalers' loyalty to Daud?

Did Corvo love Jessamine for who she was, or for the power she possessed? Perhaps it was both. Is this love any different from the love of a street urchin who was taken under the wing of Daud, and given a purpose and coin to live on?

Ultimately, it's a mistake to ignore the catalyzing and perverse power contained within a single, intangible word, which defies comprehension and absolute definition.

The mortal bowed their head. "I…I've been such a fool…"

 _I tilt my head._ Yes. You have. What of it?

"Outsider, I…I need to go."

You knew all along, didn't you, mortal? You were never told, were you?

"Outsider, please…I'll be back soon, I promise."

Mortal, before you run off…When you return, I will tell you why I bestow my Mark upon your kind. Events are moving rapidly. Soon, you will have few options ahead of you, if any at all. I have all the time in the world. Your time is growing short.


	16. The Unraveling of the Threads

**_Chapter Sixteen_**

 ** _The Unraveling of the Threads_**

* * *

It seems like I see, and have seen, everything. As if I have some ability to see into eternity. Yet, all that's truly been available to me is the observance of the ebb and flow of human nature throughout a quatrain of millennia, in an epoch of my former world. I _see_ human nature. It's the cadence behind the rise and falls of empires, of cities, of individuals.

I can no longer count how many times I've seen this intricate symphony performed. I've seen it become discordant. And yet, each time I have to wonder whose hand will provide that final nudge into cacophony?

Every choice ever made, even in the ones with the most benign of intentions, has a consequence.

What if an Emperor takes a mistress, who bears him a daughter? Then, a year later, his consort bears him a daughter, as well. The daughters become friends, until one day, they are not.

In this brief span of my time, a single decision by an Emperor has created countless more decisions. These decisions now affect the lives of all those living in an Empire, across the entirety of a mortal generation.

Is it laughable or contemptible that so many lives are altered by an Emperor's decision to sate his libido?

All of this leads back to that one, singular name…

The mystery.

The gift.

The curse.

Delilah.

 _There are so many questions I have regarding Delilah. And yet, should I even seek the answers?_

 _I view human nature through the eyes of an outsider…Perhaps this is the problem. Perhaps what I see in Delilah is not human nature, but merely a reflection of what I now perceive it to be._

 _Has it been so long? Did I become so altered from mortality, from the child I once was, by the rituals forced upon me, or by this place in which I exist?_

 _How did I not know Delilah was more powerful than she seemed? How did she gain the power to escape? Was it through magic, involving her own life's blood?_

 _Were her bindings to this Void so different from my own? More disturbing to consider, does she now wield powers which are similar to mine? Can she turn them against me?_

 _Has she garnered the true power behind the Mark, of which I have given so sparingly?_

The threads of the Tapestry are beginning to unravel. The anniversary of the death of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin I has arrived. The waters of chaos will soon flood the Empire.

Time and time again, I have issued my warnings to the ones who matter. The highborn are always brought to heel by those born beneath them, and by those who were forgotten by them. There is nothing I can do to stop what is about to occur. I can make no direct interference in the mortal realm.

All I can do is watch the reaping of the final seeds that were sown by the libido of the late Emperor, Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin.


	17. The Mark Sparingly Given

**_Chapter Seventeen_**

 ** _The Mark Sparingly Given_**

* * *

 _"_ _Please, please, leave a candle for me."_

 _…_

 _"_ _Please, please let me see."_

 _…_

 _"_ _Please, please. It's so dark in here…"_

 _…_

 _"_ _Please, please. I just want a candle…"_

 _…_

Having a nightmare, mortal? You poor thing. But I'll take pity on you, just this once. _I summon a candle and its holder into my hand, and place it down upon the ground._

…

What is it, mortal? Has silence plagued you again? It's been some time, and you haven't returned to the Shrine. Instead, I find you walking here, amidst the follies of your mind.

"Why are you here?" the mortal asked.

Tsk, tsk, little mortal. Have you already forgotten what we were to discuss?

"Ah…Yes…The reason why you give your Mark. Since you're here, you may tell me now."

 _I cross my arms, and tilt my head._ My, my…What airs you have. Do I detect a hint of Sokolov, in your demeanour? It's not becoming of you, mortal.

Just because this is a dream doesn't mean that you're entitled to assume that _you_ are the one that holds the power here.

You're fortunate that I chose not to be as impetuous and impertinent as you are, child. Especially now that the infinite realm of your Time has narrowed into finite branches. You stand now in the darkest time, between dusk and dawn, between order and chaos, between eternal night and the naissance of a New Day.

I once promised you a story. I always deliver. It is time for the final tale.

"Fine," the mortal said. "I will listen."

Will you, truly?

…

It's incredible, isn't it, how Time is always moving on and on. Weaves are created as easily as they are destroyed. Yet, it is a gift, as much as it is a curse, to be able to see all things, to see forever.

You came to me as a young child. Now, you're a grown adult. I've seen your death. I've seen the death of those around you. All Humanity ever knows how to do is be born, live, and die. Maybe it _is_ a true gift, that I am stuck in this form. Free, of my mortality.

I once told you that a child who is abused, and is powerless, almost always becomes someone dangerous. Someone to be feared. I also told you that, as a mortal child, I was abused. And I was powerless.

When I was forced to undergo that ritual, I became powerful. I became special. Yes. The argument can be made that I strip people of their free will. Yet, that is why I observe, and I rarely interfere. _Only_ in the most dire of circumstances will I directly interfere.

Over the years, I have been given many names. I am to be given many, many more, for generations upon generations.

…

The mortal eyed me, intently.

Yes, mortal?

"I've always heard sadistic things about you. But you confuse me. Do you enjoy torturing us _mortals,_ Outsider?"

No. I don't.

I am neither good, nor evil, dear mortal. I walk a very fine line between _good_ and _evil._ I simply watch, and wait. Time tells me everything I need to know about a person. When I see that they are potentially pivotal to history, then I observe them for a bit longer. I wait to see who they were, and what they are becoming.

Do you know what it is I truly desire, mortal?

"No. What do you desire?"

 _Justice._

I bestow my Mark upon those who are powerless and abused. It _sickens_ me to see that there are so many mortals who are mistreated, when they are kind-hearted.

Daud.

Corvo Attano.

Lonely Little Rat Boy.

Delilah.

What do they all have in common? They were either abused or powerless. Yet, when I gave them power, what happened? Everyone, with the exception of Corvo, became corrupt. Not by my doing, but by their own flawed humanity.

Time and time again, the potential to better the world, to right wrongs, was cast aside for personal gain. This was all their doing. This has become my greatest disappointment with Humanity.

"Will you finally tell me why you punished Vera Moray?"

Oh, Vera… _I laugh._ She was a very special one, indeed. You were correct, mortal, when you surmised that she knew too much of a past that's best left forgotten.

She was the epitome of the corruption of power, and the power of the corrupted.

At first, I wanted to believe that Vera could free me from this fate. That she could… _restore_ my humanity. It was nothing more than a final, futile attempt to regain what I had lost, all those millennia ago. It allowed me to have, however brief, a respite from dwelling upon what I already know to be inevitable.

I suppose you could argue that I was unkind to Vera. Yet, I would counter this argument with the fact that I spared your world a greater unkindness, had her ambitions gone unchecked. You cannot fathom the mayhem that would have been caused, had she brought this knowledge back to the Isles with her.

"Why do you not remove your Mark from those who are committed to evil?" the mortal questioned.

Because, mortal, I tell them that how they use their newfound power falls to them, as it has to the others before them. It's a test of _their_ character. If I were to take the Mark away from them, don't you think that would be hypocrisy? I'm merely giving them a tool, despite what the Abbey would have you believe. What they choose to do with it is their decision, not mine.

"Good point…" the mortal paused. "You know, you say you don't judge. Yet, you do seem very judgmental."

 _I shrug._ No…I am simply bored.

"Uh…What?"

Do you want to live for over four-thousand years, mortal, and see the same things happen over, and over, and over? The Void is a cold, dark place, mortal. It's not a place for children, like you. Had events been different, or had you been born in a different time, you would understand the truth of these words.

In the coming days, I will be watching you closely. The next chapter of your story is just beginning.

"What do you mean?"

The past is moving into the present, and will attempt to force the present into the past. Dear child, it always comes back to one simple name.

"Whose name?"

Delilah.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Have you truly not listened to a word I've said, mortal? The highborn are always brought to heel by the lowborn. So, allow me to impart this to you…

The answer to your question lies within your blood – _I bow, mockingly –_ my Empress.


	18. The End and The Beginning

**_Chapter Eighteen (Epilogue)_**

 ** _The End and The Beginning_**

* * *

When Emily Kaldwin I took the throne, her first official decree as Empress was that the Nineteenth Day of the Month of Earth serve as a day of remembrance; that no man, woman, or child in the Empire would forget her late mother and the sacrifices she had made for them. For fourteen years this tradition has continued. However, today will mark the new beginning. Many changes will be made, by a new Empress.

She believes herself to be a gift.

She is a mystery to the known world.

She is a curse to all in her demesne.

Her name shall now be recorded by historians as Delilah Kaldwin I.

There is nothing I can do to prevent these events from unfolding. All I can do is observe. Because when Delilah sets her precious little mind to something, she has proven to be quite the formidable opponent.

Delilah rests upon a palanquin, carried to her self-fulfilled destiny by those she has enthralled. She is surrounded by members of the Grand Serkonan Guard, and the vicious creations of the mad inventor, Kirin Jindosh.

With a wave of her hand, Delilah orders the men to set her down. Her eyes lock with Corvo, and she stands. She prowls towards him, droning on and on and on.

" _Jessamine_ took my life."

" _Jessamine_ took my love."

" _Jessamine_ took _my_ throne."

She caresses his bearded cheek. He wonders how this madwoman came to be here, and he struggles to recall what transpired between Delilah and his love. But it's no surprise to me that Corvo doesn't know the entirety of the story. There are some secrets buried so deeply, that wagging tongues will never speak them.

Emily Kaldwin's face goes slack with shock. Her first thought is the threat being made towards her rule. Her second thought is for her father. She rushes to Corvo, only to be forced away by a creation of clockwork.

As Corvo brushes Delilah aside, this path is now locked.

Retreating to the palanquin, she commands the Grand Serkonan Guardsmen to attack, along with the Clockwork Soldiers. Pandemonium engulfs Dunwall Tower.

…

 _Corvo and Emily are forced back to back. He yells at her to run, and she does. The Royal Protector fights to defeat the Witch. He instinctively reaches for his blade, and he springs into action. Delilah was never well-versed in combat. That much was proven when she had her encounter with Daud. Before long, Corvo puts his blade through Delilah's heart. It was an effortless movement._

 _But it won't be enough to save him._

 _The Void has touched Delilah, and she has embraced it. She is something unholy and wholly unnatural._

 _Stunned by her immunity to death, Corvo doesn't think to keep moving. Delilah pulls the blade out of her chest, and throws it to the floor. It clatters upon the ground. Corvo tries to get away, but he is too late. The witch has ensnared him now, with the help of Bloodbriar._

 _He has expended his reserve of mana. He is powerless. He did not have the forethought to bring several vials of the precious Addermire Solution with him, to the day's festivities._

 _The Witch dances around him, a malevolent smirk upon her lips. She outstretches her hand to Corvo's. She absorbs his Mark – my Mark – into her own. The Royal Protector is now in agony, and falls upon the wet, blood-stained floor._

 _He is unconscious._

 _The Witch wastes no time in posing him. Freezing him for time memoriam._

 _Corvo Attano, the Serkonan Royal Protector, is now nothing more than a mere trophy to an otherworldly usurper…_

 _The rightful heir to the throne._

…

 _Why am I breathing so heavily? Why am I suddenly…so anxious?_

I blink my eyes once, twice…

This strand of Time…I've never seen it before. And it's clear to me now that there is more at stake than even I foresaw.

 _I should have rescinded her Mark. The crone's power has grown._

 _This…is highly unusual. I've never seen this happen before, in the entirety of my many millennia…_

 _Not even Vera commanded this kind of power. To think, even Daud was wise enough to foresee the dangers of making an enemy of a witch._

 _…_

The Royal Protector has put himself in front of his daughter. They are completely surrounded. Father and daughter now fight, back-to-back…

But I only saw _one_ strand of Time. I cannot see the others. There are too many variables…

…Yes. Both may survive, somehow…One as a trophy of the crone, the other as a fugitive of the law…

 _I shake my head_. The mortals weren't prepared for this. Time and time again, I warned Emily Kaldwin that this would happen. And she failed to heed my warnings.

Now, it is the moment of truth.

Will Corvo become the trophy?

Will Emily become the fugitive?

Or will the roles be reversed?

…

It's time for them to take back what is theirs.


End file.
